


Story of a Girl

by LoveAsianWorld



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood, Character Death, Depression, Original Character(s), Other, Sad Ending, Suicide, Suicide Notes, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:20:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28488942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveAsianWorld/pseuds/LoveAsianWorld
Summary: It's new year's day, a new year full of changes has come, leaving the long but short year 2020 behind. It's a relief for many that hope everything will get better.A girl makes a drastic decision to welcome the new year.





	Story of a Girl

The girl is sitting on the bed, leaning against the wall when her brother yells, “Come look! It’s snowing!” First, she ignores him, not wanting to stop reading. The story has just gotten interesting too. But the 15-year-old doesn’t stop, yelling for everyone to come.

Grumbling, she stands up after she tucks her bookmark between the pages and joins her brother standing at the open window in his room. Ice-cold air is spreading in the room and she shivers.

“Where is the snow? I don’t see it. It looks like the sky is peeing instead.” 

The lanky teenager huffs, annoyed. He doesn’t say anything anymore, so the girl returns to her room, continuing the novel she had been buried in. To the surprise of her older sister, she has only one of her wireless Galaxy Buds + in her ears, playing her saved songs on shuffle. The sister is peeking out of the window, her face pressed to the glass.

“Mum, it really is snowing!” She yells, smiling like a child on christmas. “It’s like the heavens are trying to comfort us.”

At that, the girl stops, her eyes unmoving on the page she was reading. She grips the book tighter.

_ Comforting us, my ass. There’s no such thing as the heavens and even if there was, it wouldn’t bother comforting us. _

While her older sister repeats her words, going to find their mother in the apartment, she continues her reading and doesn’t look up when her sister returns, saying she has never experienced a more unspectacular New Year’s eve before in her almost 23 years of life. 

_ Well, 2020 has been shit just like life altogether is, so here we are. _

After a few more sentences, she puts away the book, attempting to get some work for university done. She clicks on the icon for OneNote on her laptop. It opens to the last page she had been working on which was the page for fanfiction ideas in her private notebook.

A heartbreaking ff in which everything is too late for the main character , she reads, written in her handwriting.

She switches to her university notebook and the last accessed page of a calculus paper appears. Sighing, she flips over the screen of her laptop and takes her Active Pen from the USB pen holder at the side. The girl goes on to finish the problems, although she is feeling like she’s not getting anything done, everything easily distracting her. When she asks her older sister for help for a transformation of a formula, her sister sits down next to her, scribbling on the display, explaining her approach. 

Finally, she gives up, “It can’t be that hard but I’m not getting it at the moment. Try googling the formula, you will surely find a similar problem like that on the internet.”

The girl thanks her and does so. The results are confusing and she notices that she must have made a mistake when she copied the formula from the file.

Instead of correcting her search, however, she turns off the tablet mode of the laptop and types into the search bar. She snorts quietly to herself when google suggests “How does it feel to be in love” after she has typed the first five words. 

'How does it feel to slit your wrists',  is her search and she presses enter.

The search results are instantaneous and the very first one is this:

'You’ll find help here - get counseled today

PhoneCounseling

Available 24 hours a day

0800 1110111'

The second is a link to suicide.org and the Germany Suicide Hotline.

She scrolls past them and selects the third search result which is only a study conducted in South Korea, where suicide rates are one of the highest worldwide. The girl would know since she has already written an article about it for the school magazine in high school. It had been one of her best, if not the best.

Not interested in all the numbers she returns to the Google search and follows the link leading her to the post of an anonymous user on quora asking the question, “Does it hurt when you slit your wrist vertically to die?”

Even there, above the actual post, there is a huge box to refer the page visitors to suicide prevention and counseling hotlines.

The girl rolls her eyes.  _ Counseling is not worth shit.  _

When she had gone to counseling sessions in spring the year before, truly at a deep dark point of her life, it didn’t change anything. In the first session she broke down crying, feeling ashamed and stupid for having gone, cursing herself in her mind for not having cancelled when she had the chance while she furiously wiped at her eyes. Still, she nodded when the therapist told her it’s alright, she could let it all out and that it must have been hard. After the session, they made an appointment for the following week and she went down to the river, not wanting to return home immediately, hoping that maybe then it wouldn’t be so obvious she had cried. The weather was mild, spring in the air. She had almost forgotten, considering turning around to avoid all the people at the promenade and decided against it. The path closest to the water was the one with the least people, so she took that one, pulling out her carton of cigarettes and her lighter. She smoked three cigarettes in the hour she spent at the river, her face turned to the water glistening in the sun or the all blue oldskool Vans on her feet. Some people walking towards her stared, whispering about the girl’s flushed tear-streaked face and swollen eyes but she ignored them all, pretended she didn’t notice.

Needless to say, nobody cared enough to try to talk to her, all of them choosing to talk about her instead. It didn’t matter.

She thought about cancelling the second appointment, imagining how much easier it would be. She wouldn’t have to feel so ashamed, wouldn’t humiliate herself anymore. She wouldn’t have to come up with some lie to dish up to her family about where she is going, the only person who would have known, who would have been upset, was her ex-boyfriend. But he wouldn’t have found out anyway, because they had broken up and she had told him she didn’t want to keep in contact any longer. 

In the end, she had gone to the appointment a week after, smiling softly in understanding at the therapist’s explanation of her carefully made diagnosis from the little information she had gathered, nodding when the woman on the green armchair next to the open window tells her that she didn’t have any open spots for proper therapy at the moment but that she could put the girl on the waiting list. The woman went on about the dilemma of their society, the rising cases of mental health issues and the shortage of counselors and therapists available to cater to them. She made the 21-year-old promise to look into more options, maybe she would have more luck elsewhere to get therapy sooner. 

“And remember, talk to people, to friends or family, often that helps a lot already,” she smiled, sending her off with the sheet of paper with her diagnosis the girl should take to her family doctor since she did not have the authority to prescribe antidepressants. The girl nodded, thanked the woman for her time and left the office, the following appointment already waiting on the couch in the foyer. 

‘Talk to people, to friends or family, often that helps a lot already,’ she had said, the words circling in the girl’s mind.  _ That had gone swimmingly the last two times, so sure, embarrass yourself further. There are not even any friends left to talk to. _

'Of course it hurts,'  are the first words of the person replying to the post on Quora from 2017. The girl reads the answer, then the following ones and clicks through several similar posts on the website. After a few posts, she closes the tabs and wipes the history of her research in the browser. 

She goes back to her reading, teasing her brother for being such a dork when he keeps entering the room just to pull faces at them. 

Hours later, when she knows that everyone has finally gone to sleep, no phone screens lighting the darkness of the rooms, she quietly puts on her black Timberlands and her winter coat after she pulls out the scalpel she still had from the hospital internship she had done almost four years ago. The suicde note is beneath her fingers that she had written days prior and had tucked next to the last pallette of antidepressants in her desk drawer.

Careful in order not to wake her sleeping sister, she leaves the room. Even quieter, she takes the key charms on her mother’s key ring into her hand to avoid any clinking of metal as she unlocks the door. The apartment is dark and silent when she turns around to pull the heavy wooden entrance door closed behind her. 

It’s even quieter in the staircase while she makes her way down the two storeys and steps onto the street, making sure the door to the building is closed all the way. The air is icy, making her shiver in the early morning hours of new year’s day. There is no snow around, the streets and cars wet. 

_ Just like that, heaven’s comfort is gone, like it has never been there. _

The girl turns to her left, walking down the street to the river promenade, not meeting a single soul, everyone at home after staying up to celebrate the beginning of the new year. 

At the river, the wind is even colder and the girl wraps her coat tighter around herself, burying her hands deeper in the pockets. She walks along the river for a few minutes until she reaches the huge tree that always looks so beautiful in spring and summer. The grass beneath her shoes is wet and it’s slightly slippery on the slope leading down to the bank of the river. The girl sits down on the ground at the tree trunk. She rests for a few moments, stares out at the dark river that shines in the light of the moon. 

Then she pulls out the blue scalpel from her pocket and pulls up the sleeves of her black coat along with the sleeves of her white hoodie. She looks at the exposed skin of her forearms covered in goosebumps from the cold. The skin is soft and untainted. 

With a flick of her right thumb, the sheath of the sharp blade drops on the dark grass and the metal glints in the light.

The girl takes a deep breath, knows that her brother would have teased her for her loud breathing caused by her stuffy nose. He always complains about her breathing. 

_ Soon, he wouldn’t be disturbed by it anymore and there would be finally peace. Soon. _

The girl smiles at that and grips the handle tighter. First, the blade hovers above the girl’s left wrist, right above where she knows her radial artery is.

Then, she presses down, slicing deep into the skin and bright hot pain flares. She has to bite her lips to keep herself from screaming into the dead of the night. She doesn’t want to risk anyone noticing her before she is done, although there hadn’t been anyone on the streets or the promenade before. 

Hot blood runs from the deep cut, down her arm, onto her coat. It’s dark, so she can’t see the muscles and tendons she knows would be visible if it were bright enough. She trembles as she transfers the blade into her left hand. It’s becoming hard to grip the scalpel properly so she hurries to press and sliice her right wrist, praying that the cut would be deep enough.

She gasps and drops the instrument on the grass, her arms spread next to her legs. The wounds are bleeding rapidly, her arms getting increasingly numb and heavy beginning from her fingers. As she leans her head against the trunk of the tree, she starts feeling dizzy. She bites her lip and closes her eyes.

_ Soon there will be no more pain. There will be nothing. _

So she waits, ignoring the excruciating pain. 

_ Please, let it end. No more.  _

Those are her last thoughts before she reaches unconsciousness at last.

  
  


It’s only a few hours later that a man walking his dog discovers the girl against the trunk of the tree. The dog had smelt blood and lead the man to the body, pulling on his leash. The man is shocked, running to the person in black timberlands, dark grey sweatpants, the white hoodie and the black coat, the sleeves pulled up to the elbows and the arms red from the blood which has seeped into the green grass. WIth one hand he calls the ambulance and with the fingers of the other go up her neck to feel for a pulse. He tries not to look at the deep slashes in her wrists, the blue scalpel next to her left hand and his eyes dart over the girl’s white face. Her long brown hair has purple tips and covers the right side of her face. The man is almost hysteric when his call goes through to emergency services, stuttering and gasping as he describes the situation to the operator. 

His voice is strangled when he says, “Th-there’s so much blood and I-I f-felt for a pulse but there was nothing.” He swallows, “I think she’s dead. She’s dead.”

The operator does everything to try to calm the man who had only been walking his dog when he coincidentally stumbled over the body of a girl that had slit her wrists.

She hadn’t taken her phone with her, but her ID card is in the left pocket of her coat so the doctors that can only confirm her death can at least notify the family. 

When the four people the girl left behind wake up, they find the bed empty, the sheets cold. The phone vibrates on the table where she had left it, the letter next to it. They run around frantically, seeing that her coat and shoes are gone and they think of who to call to ask about her whereabouts. 

They come up empty. The girl hadn’t mentioned any friends she keeps in contact with. 

When the older sister opens the letter next to the phone, the younger sister and the mother are already crying, the brother gone into a state of shock. Even when they read the letter, they can’t believe it, still convinced that the girl had simply gone for a walk in the morning and had forgotten her phone. 

  
  


It was a cold winter day when the girl, 21 years and 8 months old, in the prime of her youth left the world. However, it’s long before that she had stopped living and only existed. 

She had three siblings, one older and one younger sister and a younger brother that she loved dearly who were the reason she kept going. She was closest to her older sister, closest to her in age and she shared the room with her. The girl had often referred to her siblings as her friends in a joking tone, no one questioning why. If they had, maybe she would have told them that they were truly her only friends. 

The friends she used to have, as well as her family, described her as kind hearted, pure but the girl heard weak and immature. She was hard working and used to be well liked at her workplaces, often called the favorite, her highschool GPA stellar and the best one among her family, but the girl was convinced that everyone was only too polite and talked behind her back, dropping her at the first opportunity.

She tried counseling and talking about her mental health but her family and her closest friend called her weak. ‘Suck it up, your death would help no one,’ were her older sister’s words at her cried confession of the monstrous thoughts plaguing her. 

‘Everyone has problems, so you need to be strong. Everyone is pulled down because of your moods here,’ were the words of what the girl thought to be her friend, spat in her face when everything became too much. 

But the girl had nodded, tried to put up a front and stopped talking to them about all the thoughts haunting her. She hadn’t talked to anyone in months but tried to ‘suck it up’ and be an adult. She quit her toxic workplace and quickly found another one, ended her relationship with her boyfriend and signed up for a different university after she had dropped out of the first. She promised her older sister to talk to her, to quit smoking and avoid taking the antidepressants when the sister accidentally discovers them. 

She did everything but eventually, she reached her breaking point. The thoughts poked and stomped in her mind, filling her day until she only wanted to sleep. Her sleep was disrupted often when she finally managed to fall asleep at all, making her not want to sleep anymore either. 

She stopped being herself, breathing, existing as if waiting for something. Hope, maybe. No one noticed and hope never came.

It’s a cold winter day when the girl finally takes the last step, when she goes through the excruciating pain of bleeding out to cover up her emotional hurt. 

The last sentencees of her suicide letter read, ' Don’t worry, it’s for the best. I’m sure you will soon return to your daily lives and forget that I had ever existed. I love you and thank you for everything.'

She never lived to know how untrue her words were, dead before she would have finally managed to get a spot for therapy through the waiting list.

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo, here is my first fanfiction ever written and I hope you like it. Happy New Year! May the new year bring a lot of improvement, health and happiness!  
> This work was written when I was struggling mentally and I really hope no one ever experiences things like the main character does. And if you do then I'm deeply sorry and believe me when I say that I feel for you.  
> If you or someone you know shows suicidal tendencies then please, please get help!  
> \- United States  
> Call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255).  
> Para español, llame al 1-888-628-9454.  
> \- UK 116 123 (to reach the Samaritans in the UK)  
> \- France (33) 01 46 21 46 46  
> \- Australia 13 11 14  
> \- Canada  
> Call 1.833.456.4566, https://www.crisisservicescanada.ca/en/ For youth under 20, you can call the Kids Help Phone at 1-800-668-6868.  
> \- Germany  
> British Armed Forces Link (Germany)  
> National  
> Contact by: - Phone  
> Hotline: 0800 181 0771 (to Samaritans)  
> Hotline: 0800 181 0772 (to Samaritans)  
> Website: samaritans.org  
> 24 Hour service: 
> 
> International Helpline Berlin  
> \- Phone  
> Hotline: 6-12pm English service: 030-44 01 06 07  
> Hotline: Russian service: 030-44 01 06 06  
> Website: international-helpline.com
> 
> Telefonseelsorge Deutschland  
> National  
> Hotline: 0800 1110 111  
> Hotline: 0800 1110 222  
> Website: telefonseelsorge.org


End file.
